The Romantic Misadventures of Sarah Williams
by Lixxle
Summary: Sarah Williams experienced her first romantic disappointment just two days shy of her sixteenth birthday. For the record, it was all Hoggle's fault (even if he did have the best of intentions).
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note:** Hello fandom! Oh how I've missed you all!

This beasty was written for merellia as part of the 2012 Labyrinth Fic Exchange. It was my first exchange and I was a pinch hitter so it was written fiendishly fast. Hence it is a little ungainly-like a bloated yak.

Merellia's prompt was: "Anything with Sir Didymus. I love when he—and other minor characters, too— show up in Labyrinth fanfic. A story doesn't have to be all Didymus All the Time, but a glimpse of what he's up to is always welcome."

Many thanks to dansemacabre for putting on a fantabulous exchange, and to Bryndwr for reading this when it was a very drafty-draft and suggesting all sorts of brilliant ideas that made it infinitely better and less suck-tastic overall.

**Chapter 1: The one with the lava**

Sarah Williams experienced her first romantic disappointment just two days shy of her sixteenth birthday. For the record, it was all Hoggle's fault (even if he did have the best of intentions).

At the time, Sarah hadn't even been thinking of her love life...or the lack thereof. She had simply been sitting on the porch with Merlin after completing her chores, enjoying the Spring sunshine and sipping lemonade.

That is, until Hoggle suddenly burst through one of the hedges at the back of the garden.

"YOU," he yelled, puffing and red-faced as he hobbled hurriedly toward her, "attract trouble like Ludo attracts rocks."

He shook one stubby finger at her in an accusatory fashion and then abruptly bent forward, hands on his knees, desperately trying to catch his breath.

Sarah looked at the Hoggle-shaped hole in her newly-clipped hedge and then down at the dwarf, who was still struggling to breathe normally.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, brushing bits of hedge from Hoggle's back. "I've been mowing the lawn."

She looked at the uneven, meandering lawnmower tracks that now covered the garden.

"Badly," she amended. "There's no reason for you to come bursting in here, yelling things like that...unless I ran over a fairytale creature without knowing."

She looked over at the lawnmower, half-expecting to see bits of unicorn or some such thing trapped in the blades.

Hoggle pulled himself up into a standing position.

"No, no. Ain't nothing like that. You're about to go on another adventure. And knowing my luck, I'll be dragged into it right behind you," he grumbled.

Sarah held up her hand. "Ok. Time out. You told me that we're only granted one big adventure per lifetime. I didn't think I was even qualified for another one."

Hoggle's expression became distinctly mulish. "Well apparently the rules don't apply to you, Missy. No-one gets through the Labyrinth—but _you_ did. No one beats Jar—" he broke off quickly and looked around.

Seeing that they were still alone, he sighed in relief.

"No-one gets their wished-away brother back," he amended, "but _you_ did. No-one gets more than one adventure...but apparently, _you do_. It's your 'gift'," his air quotations were rich in sarcasm, "for being 'Champion of the Labyrinth'. And apparently _this_ adventure is going to be a big one."

A big one? Sarah was instantly intrigued; her last adventure certainly hadn't felt 'small' so what constituted a 'big' adventure was rather mind-boggling.

Perhaps it contained a ship.

She shrugged. "Oh. Well, that doesn't sound so bad. Want a cookie?" she asked, calmly picking up a cookie for herself from the plate.

Hoggle threw his hands into the air. "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. You already had an adventure where you did the rescuin'. So, according to 'The Way Things Are Done', that means _you're_ the one who is gonna to be rescued this time around."

"What?" she screeched. "_I'm_ going to be rescued?"

She dropped her cookie. Merlin stirred from his shady corner of the porch, snatched it up from the floor, and ran inside, triumphant.

Hoggle nodded approving. "Now _that_ is the reaction I was expecting."

He snatched a spare glass from the open kitchen window and then hoisted himself up onto one of the porch chairs, his stubby legs swinging in the air.

Sarah was no longer calm. "What kind of adventure are we talking about here?"

Hoggle snorted disdainfully and poured himself a glass of icy lemonade. "It's the standard 'fair-maiden-awaitin'-rescue-in-a-tower' kind of adventure."

She looked at him in shock. "Why would I want to be a fair maiden, awaiting rescue? That's probably the _last_ thing I'd want to do on an adventure!"

It was true. After she had fought her way to 'The Castle Beyond the Goblin City', Sarah had no desire to play the role of the fair, defenceless maiden—not when the hero got all the best lines and got to smash things up.

And Sarah had definitely acquired a taste for smashing things up.

"And besides," she said, thoughtfully, "how is sitting in a tower supposed to be a gift for making it through the Labyrinth?"

Hoggle looked around shiftily and then jammed two cookies into his mouth.

"You'resupposedtoberescuedbyyourOneTrueLove," he mumbled through cookie crumbs.

Sarah took a moment to decipher his comment and then lurched to her feet.

"One True Love?" she stammered, shocked. "I'm too young for a One True Love!"

Hoggle swallowed gamely. "So I keep telling them, but all they keep saying is 'True Love Waits'. Whatever that means..."

Sarah barely paid him any attention. She was already pacing across the porch.

"I don't have time to sit in a tower. And I certainly don't have any interest in a One True Love right now. I have my life all planned out!"

Hoggle nodded. "Don't I know it. You'll be off to college after high school," he recited, "to study theater and English while, in the meantime, landing small parts in local theater productions until you've honed your craft sufficiently to star on Broadway. Though, you'll only be in plays and not in musicals because, let's face it—you couldn't carry a tune in a bucket..."

Sarah paused her pacing briefly to give him a dark look. Hoggle continued, oblivious.

"...then marriage eventually, but not until you're least thirty to give your career ample time to blossom." He rolled his eyes at the word. "_Then_ kids—two of them, four years apart to ensure that they both get equal attention, but close enough in age so that neither of them feels like an only child. Did I miss anything?"

"No," she said dryly, "you got it exactly right." She crossed her arms defensively. "I don't want this. Can you imagine how worried my family will be if I just disappeared? I don't...I don't want to disappear and never see my brother again."

Hoggle merely shrugged. "Well, you can kiss your plans goodbye. Farewell Broadway and Toby! Hel-lo tower and One True Love!"

Sarah practically collapsed into her chair. "Are you absolutely sure about this? Maybe it's just a rumor?"

"Ain't no rumor, Sarah. The whole Underground is talking about it. And you'd better be prepared because it's all going to happen sooner than you think."

"How soon?"

Hoggle took a healthy sip of lemonade. "Just after you turn sixteen. Apparently, there is some kind of age requirement."

Sarah stared at him in shock. "That's two weeks away!" Her shock turned to horror. "I have an algebra test that week!"

Hoggle shrugged again. "Don't even bother studying—algebra ain't going to help you where _you're _going."

Part of Sarah was rather relieved to miss the test-it _was _algebra, after all, which made being trapped in a tower almost benign in comparison. The rest of her, however, was rapidly heading towards a panic attack.

"How soon after my birthday?"

"Don't rightly know. It's supposed to be a surprise. But, mark my words: One day, you'll be on your way to school, minding your own business, and from out of nowhere a dragon will swoop down, grab ya, and fly away! And then where will you be?"

She frowned. "Where will I be?"

"Probably stashed away in the highest tower of some ol' deserted castle, surrounded by lava, waitin' to be rescued." He shook his head. "Damn lava."

Sarah blinked. "Damn lava," she agreed and took a long sip of her lemonade.

"And I ain't got _no_ idea how you're going to get rescued from there. Lava tends to be hard to cross—even harder than the Bog."

He bit savagely into another cookie.

"Do you have you any idea who is going to rescue me?"

He shrugged. "Typically, a One True Love tends to be a prince."

A prince. Sarah thought about that for a moment. During her lifetime, she had only met one royal male and he was prone to giving her hallucinogenic fruit or sending stabby bits of machinery after her. Consequently, the prospect of a royal suitor wasn't as pleasant as it should be.

"Are you sure it's going to be a prince? Couldn't it be a knight?"

Hoggle shook his head. "We ain't got all that many knights anymore, on account of the dragons. Apparently the armor makes knights delightfully crunchy."

Sarah sighed. "Well, if it's a prince, I guess that narrows things down a little."

"Don't be so sure. We're talking about the Underground, so everything that can go wrong _will_ go wrong."

Sarah's stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

"If your One True Love doesn't rescue you in time, you might get accidentally rescued by something else; troll, jabberwocky, chicken. Though," he said thoughtfully, "of those options, your best bet is the chicken."

Sarah stared at him in shock. "My fate lies in the hands of heroic poultry?"

"Better believe it."

Suddenly, her eyes lit up. "Sir Didymus is a knight. And both you and Ludo have rescued me before; can't you guys rescue me this time?"

Hoggle pondered that. "We could, and we'll certainly try." He scowled, kicking out at the plastic table leg. "But, let's face it: If we ain't meant to rescue you, we won't be able to. That's 'The Way Things Are Done' when it comes to these adventures."

"Great," she said, shaking her head, her ponytail bobbing back and forth furiously. "Just _great_. I have to sit in a tower, surrounded by lava, waiting for someone..."

"Don't forget the chicken," Hoggle interjected.

"...or some_thing_ to rescue me. What if they're incompetent and can't find me?"

Hoggle shrugged. "That's actually pretty likely. Worse still, your One True Love may not have even been born yet."

Sarah slumped in her chair. "Then I could be sitting in that tower..."

"...forever," finished Hoggle. "Though, look on the bright side: a century is typically the longest you'll have to wait."

_That_ was a terrifying thought.

"A century in a tower seems like a lot of bother just for True Love," she said morosely.

Hoggle swallowed his cookie chunk. "Personally, I think True Love is all a bunch of goblin dung. You hear stories, but I ain't met mine and I don't know anyone who has. It's possible that you'll be sitting in that tower for nothing."

THAT was an eye-opener. Things were going from bad to lava-encrusted in seconds.

"Well, if you don't know who is going to rescue me, do you at least know who is going to _kidnap_ me?"

"Other than the dragon? Nope." Hoggle shook his head. "But I know it ain't You Know Who. And before you ask," he interjected, as Sarah opened her mouth, "it's because he's been wearing a lot of beige lately."

At Sarah's puzzled look, he elaborated. "That usually means he's happy. If he was plotting something, he'd be wearing black."

Sarah blinked. "Huh."

They both took a moment to contemplate the Goblin King's sartorial choices and their possible impact on Sarah's future health and wellbeing.

Sarah sighed. "Can't I just say 'no' to this adventure?"

Before Hoggle could answer, Sarah stood up from her seat.

"I don't want to be stuck in a tower," she yelled at the sky. "And I don't want a One True Love! Well, not right now," she amended. "It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture, it's just that it's inconvenient right now. Thanks anyway!"

Hoggle grabbed her arm and pulled her back into her seat.

"Are you crazy? Didn't you learn _anything_ from your trip through the Labyrinth? Words. Have. Power." He shook his head, disgusted. "Even if You Know Who is not the villain, there is still one out there right now, probably wearing black and _definitely_ armed with a dragon. Do you _really_ want to get his attention? Especially if your One True Love ain't goin' to rescue you right away?"

Sarah looked down at Hoggle and gave him a smirk. "Then I guess I'll just have to rescue myself then, won't I?"

Hoggle frowned. He recognized that particular smirk. It was the facial expression equivalent of 'piece of cake' and it made his eyelid twitch.

"There are some places where escape ain't all that easy from the inside," he warned, "especially when there's lava involved."

"Well then," she said, as she refilled their glasses, "I'll just have to avoid capture altogether then, won't I?"

Hoggle huffed at that.

"And dragons," she said cheerily.

"Yeah, but will the dragons avoid you?"

Sarah shrugged and patted Hoggle's shoulder. She looked fiercely determined.

"I'm not worried."

After all, she had beaten a living maze at the age of fifteen. How hard could this be?

Hoggle dropped his face into his hands. "And that's what worries me most of all."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The one where Sarah decides to thwart destiny**

But she was worried...just a little. Which was...worrying.

After Hoggle left, she began to mentally weigh-up the pros and cons of this latest adventure.

_Pros_: True Love (at an inconvenient time).

_Cons_: Contact with dragons; unknown villain (most likely a megalomaniac fae with a Grimm fetish); lengthy stay in tower with lava-pool views; possible non-existence of True Love; high likelihood of rescue by chicken after hundreds of years waiting in the tower; not being able to see Toby grow up; Broadway plans put on hold indefinitely.

After carefully contemplating her list, it was clear that the _Cons_ list was winning by a landslide, given that the only _Pro_ was the slim possibility of True Love. And besides, she wondered: Was True Love _really_ that much of a _Pro_? After all, her Dad and Karen were more than happy and their relationship certainly wasn't the stuff of fairytales. Did she _really_ need her One True Love to bring future happiness?

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she would be satisfied with the every-day, garden-variety, plain old 'Love' rather than the fancy, fairytale-variety of 'True Love' (and Love had the bonus of being lava-free...she hoped).

By the end of the afternoon, she had come to the conclusion that True Love had to go.

******************

Sarah realized that if she wanted to get out of her next adventure, she would need A Plan.

'Operation Thwart True Love,' so to speak.

She spent a productive day in the library, plotting and scheming, and then returned home cautiously optimistic, only to find the Wiseman and his hat sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Honey, I'm home," sing-songed the Hat when Sarah entered the room. "Where were you, Señorita? Had a hot date?"

Sarah snorted and reached up to scratch its head. "Yes. With a stack of library books."

"Kinky," the bird-like Hat said approvingly.

"Ahh, the library," the Wiseman beamed. "A very suitable place for a young lady. Were you trying to find something in particular?"

"Well, as a matter of fact..."

She explained that she was on the cusp of a quest for True Love and her reluctance to go along for the ride.

The Wiseman shook his head. "An adventure is a terrible thing to waste."

Sarah threw herself into her armchair, crossing her long legs at the ankles.

"Thanks, but I've had enough adventure to last me a lifetime. But I think I found a way around it." She leaned forward, excited. "Most of the heroines—Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel—were all virtuous maidens who needed a First Kiss to be rescued..."

The Hat perked up. "Oooh, I like where this is going!"

"Be quiet," the Wiseman said sternly to the little hat. He gave Sarah an encouraging look. "Do go on."

Sarah flicked her hair over her shoulder impatiently. "Well, if I give away my First Kiss, then surely I won't qualify for any new adventures, right?"

The Wiseman sighed happily. "Ahhh...a First Kiss. Love, after all, is the greatest adventure of them all."

The Hat nodded. "Though, for the record, sex can also be pretty adventurous,"

Sarah waved her hand impatiently. "I'm not talking about love...or sex," she blushed. "Just a kiss."

The Wiseman tilted his head, the little hat tipping precariously. "But what is a First Kiss, my dear, but a prelude to a 'Happily Ever After'?"

"Or a way of getting out of a coma," the Hat chirped. "Just ask Sleeping Beauty."

The Wiseman levelled a glare at his headwear. "Would you be quiet?"

"Ok, ok. Don't lose your incontinence pads," the Hat grumbled to itself.

Sarah ignored their bickering. She quickly stood up and began pacing across the room.

"I have to do _something_. I can't sit by and wait to be kidnapped by a dragon! Hoggle seems to think that I won't be able to get out of the tower by myself so I'd just have to sit there and wait to be rescued. And who knows how long that will take? I have all sorts of dreams and plans! I don't want to waste all that time sitting in a tower, surrounded by lava!"

"Damn lava," the Hat muttered.

"Indeed," agreed the Wiseman.

Sarah sniffed, willing herself not to cry. "And what about my family? I would simply disappear—never to be seen again. They would be so worried." She lifted her chin, determined. "I can't do that to them. I can't simply disappear and not be around to see Toby grow up."

She stopped her pacing and turned to them, her eyes beseeching. "So you must understand—I'll do whatever I can do to disqualify myself from this next adventure."

The Wiseman gave her a kind smile. "I understand. But, my dear—what if this next adventure is your one and only chance for a Happily Ever After? After all, the fair maiden is typically rescued by her One True Love and that _always_ leads to a Happily Ever After."

Sarah blinked. "And what if I literally spend eternity in a tower waiting for a chicken?"

The Hat shrieked. "Touché, Lady!" The Hat bent down to look at his owner. "She's got you there, Old Man!"

The Wiseman merely rolled his eyes.

Sarah knelt down before them, resting her hand on the Wiseman's knee.

"What do you think? Will it work?"

The Wiseman scratched his chin meditatively. "A First Kiss has many uses. To squander it in haste would not be wise. Perhaps you should speak to His Majesty about your plans..."

The Hat nodded. "Si si. Blondie typically knows his way out of a tricky situation. And he has been mucho happy lately, wearing beige and all..."

Sarah shook her head emphatically. "No. Not him. _Never_ him. Besides, I have to do this alone. That's 'The Way These Things Are Done'." She sighed. "Please. Tell me—will it work?"

The Hat and the Wiseman looked at each other. The Hat nodded.

"Pucker up, Señorita!"

Sarah beamed. "Thank you! Both of you!"

She lunged forward and engulfed them in a hug. The Hat preened under her attention. The Wiseman, however, patted her gently on the back and remained uneasy.

"Be warned," he intoned, "A kiss, especially a First Kiss, has its own special power—"

"Sarah!" Karen's voice called from downstairs. "Dinner's ready! Go wash up!"

Sarah pulled away from them both. "I'd better go. I'll see you later, right?"

"Like you can stay away from us," the Hat chirped saucily.

Sarah blew the Hat a kiss and bounded out of the room.

"—a power to change the course of one's life, forever," the Wiseman finished with a sigh.

The Hat tutted. "The youth of today: Always too busy to receive dire warnings of their impending doom."

The Wiseman sighed again, deeply. "Doom is right. Let's hope she chooses her First Kiss wisely, otherwise I fear that this will all go terribly wrong."

The Hat began to preen itself, supremely unconcerned. "Meh. It always goes wrong before it goes right."

********

When Sarah had presented her plan to relinquish her First Kiss to her friends during one of their weekly high teas in her bedroom, Hoggle had agreed to the plan wholeheartedly.

"Get rid of it," he had grumbled, pausing to sip Earl Grey rather daintily from a rose-print cup. "Them First Kisses are nothin' but trouble and, as I told you before, trouble seems to find you without you even trying. Besides," he frowned, "who knows who'll try'n rescue you? I wouldn't trust most princes as far as I could throw 'em. And don't even start me on the kings..." he muttered.

In fact, he was so disturbed by the thought of Sarah at the hands of an unscrupulous prince or a disreputable king that he barely touched his Oreos.  
"Ok," she said briskly, her own tea untouched. "Then it's just a matter of finding a suitable candidate and kissing him. That should be enough to ensure that I am disqualified from any further adventures. Right?"

Hoggle nodded emphatically. Sir Didymus, however, looked disturbed.

"But, my Lady," he said, carefully placing his tea cup back on its saucer, "one's First Kiss is an important milestone. Why, True Love can come from a First Kiss _and_ a Happily Ever After..."

As he spoke, Sarah's attention was caught by a flash of white outside her bedroom window. She frowned. Surely not...?

Hoggle snorted. "True love? Ha! I think all those Bog fumes have finally pickled your brain. You know what 'came' from my first kiss? Two weeks of lip rot and a broken heart."

He snorted again and looked over at Ludo, who was lapping at a bowl of milk. "Don't tell me _you're_buying into this True Love crud..."

Ludo looked up, a magnificent milk moustache ringing his mouth.

"Uh-huh."

Hoggle threw up his hands in disgust, but the old fox was not at all perturbed. He picked up his tea cup again, his paw delicately curled.

"Then perhaps thine First Kiss should not have been bestowed on someone who was unworthy of the honor, Brother Hoggle."

Ambrosius, sitting at the old knight's feet, barked sharply in agreement.

Hoggle gave a half-hearted shrug. "Maybe," he muttered into his teacup.

Sir Didymus gave a small smirk and turned to Sarah, who was still staring out the window.

"What say you, my Lady? My Lady?"

Sarah blinked and turned her attention back to the group.

"I'm sorry...what were you saying? Something about lip rot?" She reached for her tea cup.

"Lip rot bad," Ludo stated and returned to his milk bowl.

Hoggle rolled his eyes. "Trust you to have heard that bit."

The old fox placed his hand on Sarah's. "Just be careful, my Lady. A First Kiss is not something to be given away lightly."

Sarah gave him a bright smile. "You have nothing to fear, Sir Knight. And besides—who says that I am giving it away lightly? I have a plan."

She squeezed his hand reassuringly and then took a sip of tea. She grimaced.

"Eew, it's cold; let me get another pot. I'll be back in a minute."

Sarah picked up the teapot and quickly left her bedroom, carefully closing the door behind her.

The little knight tilted his head, listening until Sarah's footsteps faded away.

"I fear this will not end well for our Sarah," he said, worried.

Hoggle reached for a cheese sandwich. "Well, it will end far better than being surrounded by lava. That ain't no happy ending."

"Lava bad."

Hoggle gave a gruff laugh. "I'm with Ludo on this one."

Sir Didymus started to say something then stopped. Instead, he took another sip of his tea.

"Well, out with it," Hoggle grumbled.

"But would it end badly?"

"What do you mean?"

"If our Sarah is destined for another adventure—most especially an adventure with a tower and lava—then there is a very good chance that it _will_ end in True Love and Happily Ever After. Verily, the adventures with the greatest sacrifices often hold the greatest rewards. Are we, perhaps, leading her from the path of true happiness by favoring her scheme?"

Hoggle pointed at Didymus with his half eaten sandwich.

"If there is even the remote possibility of Sarah bein' stuck in a tower for a hundred years, then she should get rid of that kiss as soon as she can," he said stubbornly. "Nothing can make up for living your entire life away from everyone who loves you. Not even True Love, if that even exists. Who knows if her One True Love would even come to rescue her?!"

He threw down his sandwich in disgust.

Didymus took another sip of his tea. "A very good argument, Brother. I confess that I would not want our fair maiden to disappear, even for True Love. Though, should she leave us, I vow that I will do my utmost to find her, even if the search takes me to the ends of the earth and to my very last breath."

"Me too," said Ludo.

Hoggle gave the old fox's shoulder an awkward pat. "I know. Me too," he said gruffly, and quickly removed his hand.

Ambrosius rubbed his head against Hoggle's calf.

"Dumb mutt," Hoggle grumbled.

He slipped Ambrosius a cookie as surreptitiously as possible, checking to see if Didymus had noticed.

Didymus hadn't; he was stroking his long whiskers in a meditative fashion.

"Perhaps, Brother Hoggle, thou should mention Sarah's predicament to His Majesty."

Hoggle, who had just taken a large sip of tepid tea, sprayed it across the room.

Directly at Ludo.

"Agh!" yelled Ludo.

Ludo blindly groped around him until his fingers found the crochet throw rug on the edge of Sarah's bed. He buried his shaggy face in it, desperately trying to wipe away the tea that was dripping from his fur.

Hoggle, however, didn't even notice. He was too horrified.

"Do I _look_ like I have a death wish? Do you think I woke up this mornin' and said to myself: 'Today looks like a great day to be bogged! But... how can I accomplish this feat? Oh yes! I can simply mention Sarah's name within a ten mile radius of the King!'"

Sir Didymus held up one paw. "Verily, my dear friend, I did not mean to cause thou distress. Or to cause Brother Ludo, uh..._moistur_e," he said, turning to Ludo, who was still trying to clean the tea from his fur. "It is merely that His Majesty has always maintained a fervent interest in our fair maiden's affairs; He will not be pleased when He hears of this turn of events second-hand."

At that, Hoggle only shrugged and picked up his mangled cheese sandwich.

"He is never pleased. And he'll get over it, the way he always gets over it; he'll put on somethin' shiny, dance around the throne room singing a sad song about how everyone misunderstands him, and then he'll bog a couple of goblins. Business as usual in the Goblin Kingdom."

Ludo shuddered. He clutched the tea-stained throw rug to his chest.

"Ludo scared."

Sir Didymus patted Ludo's shaggy arm. "There is nothing to fear, my Brother. Well, not on our part." He bent down and gently ruffled Ambrosius' ears. "I fear, however, for Sarah: Once she makes the decision to thwart True Love, her path will become much more difficult."

What Sir Didymus did not realize is that it was already too late. As soon as Sarah rejected the gift of True Love in favor of an adventure-free life...

...well...

True Love decided to reject her right back.

*************


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR NOTE: **Oh _you_ _guys_-your reviews are _spectacular_, as always! Oh how I have missed you all. Come here-we're group hugging right here and now. Free mini Goblin King ('Now in beige with extra crotch!') for each and every one of you.

**Chapter 3: The Romance-sucking Properties of ****_Cheetos_**

So, with Hoggle's endorsement still ringing in her ears, Sarah began planning her First Kiss with the single-minded focus of a fifteen year old woman trying to escape a lava-encrusted fate.

All she needed was a man—any man—to kiss. She wondered if she could simply pounce on some unsuspecting boy at school, accomplish the deed, and then run off.

Or, perhaps it would be better to do it outside of school so that she wouldn't have to deal with any uncomfortable consequences.

She sighed. Although The Plan would ensure that she remained lava-free, it would probably lead her on the merry path toward a sexual assault charge.

That evening, however, as she was finalizing her plans, the unthinkable happened—her hormones woke up. Stretching luxuriantly, they surveyed the situation, noted that an interaction with the opposite sex was imminent, and startled to _meddle_ most gleefully.

Suddenly, Sarah became somewhat... _excited_...about the prospect of her First Kiss. And thanks to that growing excitement, her plans took a turn from the pragmatic to the romantic. Before she knew it, Sarah's plans for her First Kiss involved less 'pouncing' and 'running', and more 'lingering' and 'enjoying'.

And with those plans came daydreaming—lots and lots of daydreaming—about the event.

After two straight days of contemplating all the possibilities, she had planned out what she wanted from her First Kiss experience. She had decided on an innocent yet meaningful brush of lips, possibly under a starlit sky.

A full moon wouldn't go astray, either.

Perhaps the scent of wild honeysuckle in the air.

And a few fireflies scattered around the scene, for ambiance.

Of course, it would be imperative that she would wear her hair up for the big event, held aloft by the tortoiseshell combs she had purchased at the _Curio Shoppe_ on her fifteenth birthday. After all, such an important step toward womanhood should be marked by a sophisticated hairstyle—and the peony-print summer dress that Karen had bought her during their last stepmother-stepdaughter bonding attempt which, fortuitously, had happened during the sales.

By the end of the week, Sarah had the scene of her First Kiss completely mapped out in minute detail, except for the identity of the recipient. In her daydreams, he was a blurry figure, though he appeared rather tall—she couldn't imagine stooping down for her first kiss, the dynamic would be all wrong—with heroic hair and artistic hands. Surely that wouldn't be too much to ask?

Surely?

****  
Unsurprisingly, given her rejection of True Love, Sarah's quest for a First Kiss did not go according to plan.

Although she had dreamed of stars and honeysuckle and tortoiseshell combs, the deed actually took place on the grimy linoleum floor of a high school hallway under a flickering neon light at exactly 10am—possibly one of the most unromantic hours of the day.

Sarah had just walked out of her History class when she had collided—literally and bodily—with Jeremy Botts; an angular young man with a prominent Adam's apple, a squinty left eye, and a secret love of macramé.

They had fallen to the floor in a tangle of limbs and books and mutual "AGHHHS!"

But calamity only truly struck when Sarah had lifted her head at the exact same moment that Jeremy had accidentally lowered his and...

...well...

_the deed was done_.

It was less of a kiss than an act of oral warfare. There was a mashing of lips accompanied by the 'clacking' sound of teeth colliding and Sarah registered the metallic taste of braces and...eew!_Cheetos_...before she managed to shrug him off.

In utter horror, she registered the applause and catcalls of the other students walking down the hall. Ducking her head so that her long, dark hair hid her face from the crowd, she desperately gathered up her belongings while simultaneously trying very, very hard not to wish for the ground to open up and swallow her (because, with her luck, it would).

Then, with her chin held high, she stood up and looked down at Jeremy Botts, who continued to decorate the hallway floor in a kiss-induced stupor or possibly a mild concussion—it was difficult to tell.

"Libertine!" she hissed, pointing down at the semi-comatose boy. "Degenerate!"

And, with a regal toss of her hair, she quickly left the hallway.

****

In her queenly, albeit hurried exit, Sarah missed seeing Jeremy Botts receive a rousing round of applause from fellow members of the 'Dungeons and Dragons' society.

In fact, his friends were so impressed by his seduction of the prettiest girl in school—no matter how accidental—that they felt a sudden collective urge to raise him up onto their shoulders in recognition of his triumph.

However, this urge was quickly squashed by the knowledge that, even as a group, they lacked the upper arm strength to hoist up even a small chihuahua.

Instead, they bought him an orange soda from the closest vending machine and patted him on the back most vigorously.

****

Sarah had managed to make it all the way home before bursting into hot, angry tears. She stormed into her room, threw her books on the floor in frustration, and sat down at her dressing table.

"I need you," she said tearfully at her reflection.

In the space of time that it took for her to turn toward her bed, Ludo had appeared, his big eyes filled with compassion, his arms outstretched to catch her as she launched herself across the room.

For the next hour, snuggled against his furry orange chest, she told him all about her foiled plans, her lost dreams, and her bitter humiliation. Ludo was the perfect friend; fluffy, comforting, and quick to add his sympathies.

"_Cheetos_ bad," he acknowledged with a sad shake of his head.

Sarah sniffed. "First Kisses should not taste like _Cheetos_," she agreed.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Then Sarah sighed.

"Do you think I was silly to have planned it all out?"

Ludo shook his large, shaggy head. "No."

"Though, I guess I did get a bit carried away." She laughed self-consciously. "I guess I still dream big."

"Good," Ludo said, rather emphatically.

Sarah took heart at that and used every scrap of courage she had to ask the question she really feared.

"Do you think it will get better?"

At Ludo's puzzled look, she tried to explain. "Kissing. Because, if what happened with Jeremy Botts is a preview of what's to come, I think kissing is going to be one of those things that's better in fairytales. And if kissing is this bad, well, Love is probably going to be a disaster..."

At that, Ludo nodded sadly.

In her current state of self-involvement, Sarah didn't ask why Ludo had seemed so wistful at the mention of Love. If she had, she would have found out that Ludo's love-life was as ill-fated as hers.

He had once spent an entire summer evening serenading a beautiful she-beast whom he had spied reclining across a hay bale. He had stayed at a respectful distance throughout the long hours of the night, singing of his appreciation for her fine horns and her feminine form, even though he couldn't see either of these features in the moonless night.

It was only when he approached his love in the pale light of dawn that he realized that it was not a female of his kind reclining in gentle repose on that hay bale, but a drunk minotaur in a ballet tutu passed out in a pool of ale. Oddly enough, such acts of drunken transvestism were commonplace in the Goblin Kingdom; it was a natural by-product of having a national drink that was as potent as paint-stripper and a King who possessed more frosted eye-shadow than an _Avon_ saleswoman.

To be honest, Ludo thought that Sarah's misadventures with her _Cheetos_-flavored suitor paled in comparison to losing your heart to a cross-dressing minotaur, but he was too good of a friend to say that out loud. Instead, he simply patted her on the head and sighed.

"Love hard."

Sarah sniffed. "I think you're right about that."

"Whatever you just did, it sure did the trick."

Sarah looked up from Ludo's chest to see Hoggle peering at her from the other side of her mirror, his face creased in a rare smile.

She quickly rubbed the remaining tears from her eyes. "It worked? I'm no longer qualified to sit in a tower surrounded by lava?"

"Ha! At this point, you ain't qualified to sit in a chair in the middle of the Bog."

Sarah put on her biggest and falsest smile. "Great! That's just wonderful."

Ludo patted her shoulder.

Hoggle did a little jig on the spot. "Ain't it just? This is cause for a celebration!"

Within a blink, he was climbing over the dressing table and, with a little help from Ludo, sitting on the bed beside them.

He surreptitiously looked left, then right, then behind him, and pulled out a small bottle from his vest.

"I...ahh... _liberated_ this from You-Know-Who's private collection."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Hoggle! Are you nuts? He will kill you!"

Hoggle shrugged. "Killin's not Captain Tighty Pants' style. He'll probably just hang me above the Bog for a while."

Sarah gave him an admiring look. "Who is this fellow sitting before me? To think, even the mention of the word 'Bog' used to send you into a panic attack."

Hoggle hung his head bashfully. "Well, there are worse things that can happen. Like being surrounded by lava. And besides," he looked up at the bottle in his hand, "I've always wanted to try this. It's _Floraqua_—apparently, it contains the nectar of every flower in existence. Some say that it is the most delicious drink that you will ever taste; others say that it tastes like bottled goblin pi—"

He stopped abruptly and gave Sarah an apologetic look. "Ahh, bottled goblin spit."

Hoggle held up the bottle to the light; thousands of gold flecks floated merrily in liquid the color of mother of pearl.

"Pretty," breathed Ludo, his large finger reaching out to touch the bottle.

"Lovely," sighed Sarah.

"Well?" Hoggle brought the bottle back down to eye level. "What are we waitin' for?" He pulled out the cork with his teeth and spat it onto the ground. "Let's celebrate!"

Sarah squared her shoulders. "Absolutely! A victory is a victory!"

_Even if it feels a little hollow_, she thought wryly.

****

_Floraqua_'s flavor lived up to its reputation... of tasting like something that a goblin had excreted.

The three friends each simultaneously took a sip...and then spat their drink across the room. They then spent the rest of the evening trying to remove the taste of the vile liquid.

"I'm tempted to drink the Bog just to get this foul taste out of my mouth," muttered Hoggle, as Ludo dragged his tongue along the carpet.

Sarah thought it was a fitting end to her disastrous day.

Later that night, when Sarah was finally alone in her room, she flung herself onto her bed and contemplated her situation.

She wiped the last of her tears from her eyes, took a deep breath, and told herself, quite firmly, to _get a grip_. All of this was fixable. Her schoolmates would no doubt tease her about the incident, but they would eventually forget about it.

And as for her love life, well, it was bound to get better. This first incident was just a small hiccup and had nothing at all to do with the fact that she had rejected True Love.

Nothing at all.

Kisses, romance, Love—well, surely all of it would get better with time and practice.

Yet, just as she was finally falling into slumber, she heard a familiar male voice, whisper: _Ah yes, precious thing, but hasn't it already been so much better?_

And with that melodious voice came the memory of a white ballroom and a handsome King, gazing at her as if she had turned his world upside down.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Love in a Time of Salmon **

Sarah Williams experienced her second romantic disappointment under an elm tree in her favorite park on a cold November evening.

In an attempt to drive her misbegotten First Kiss from her mind, she had turned her considerable attentions to finding the perfect target for her Second Kiss. _This_ time, she would ensure that her plans were sensible albeit romantic; that her target was both suitable and accessible; and that the experience was romantic and _Cheetos_-free.

And once she found the lucky male worthy of her Second Kiss, woe betide anyone—including the man himself—who got in her way.

Marco Bryce was easily the most attractive male in her year. He was pleasingly tall with piercing blue eyes, thick dark hair, and the kind of confidence that comes from having an acne-free adolescence and an aptitude for football. To Sarah, he was a walking, talking Second Kiss in acid washed jeans.

The problem was that most of the other females in her year also had romantic designs on Marco Bryce. But Sarah didn't allow herself to be concerned with such matters—all she needed to do was to get his attention and everything would work out.

In the end, she accomplished this feat remarkably easily; all it took was a flick of her dark hair, a smile across English class, and the same kind of laser-sharp determination on her part that had seen her befriend or destroy anything that stood between her and her wished-away brother.

To be honest, Marco Bryce didn't stand a chance; it was just lucky for him that he had a penchant for formidable women.

On that fateful day, Marco Bryce had sat beside her in English class and then asked to walk her home. It was cold, which allowed them an excellent excuse to huddle close as they walked along the winding streets from the high school to Sarah's house.

Once they got to the park, Marco slowed his steps and Sarah had followed suit until they had finally stopped beneath a large elm. Sarah found herself backed against the tree trunk, as Marco closed the distance between them, his eyes glazed.

_This is it!_ she thought triumphantly.

As his lips descended towards hers, she noticed that the evening stars were starting to peek through the clouds, a crescent moon beginning to shine above them. Her heart began to beat wildly.

It was all _perfect_...

...that is, until Marco Bryce shoved his tongue in her mouth and began to wiggle it around quite vigorously—rather like a salmon valiantly trying to swim upstream against a strong current.

Sarah broke free in disgust. "Look, I've only done this once, but I'm pretty sure that your tongue should not be trying to breakdance in my mouth." She gamely lifted her chin. "Clearly, this is not going to work."

She picked up her books and marched away, leaving Marco stunned, his tongue still protruding from his slack lips.

***

When she entered her room, Sir Didymus was waiting for her on her bed, Ambrosius sitting by his feet.

Sarah threw her books onto her desk and yanked off her red woollen hat. She held up her hand to halt the knight's greeting.

"Just give me a moment to wash my mouth out in bleach and I'll tell you all about it," she grumbled and walked out off to the bathroom.

Didymus and his steed exchanged looks. "Surely she jests?"

Ambrosius attempted to shrug.

When she came back, her breath minty-fresh (and bleach-free), she told him the entire story.

By the end, Didymus was, justifiably, furious. Even Ambrosius began to bare his teeth. After threatening to run Marco Bryce through with his sword, her very own knight kissed her palm very prettily. Sarah tried not to giggle at the feel of his whiskers against her skin.

"Thou art truly the brightest of all treasures, milady!"

Sarah sniffed a little, overcome. "Why thank you, Sir Knight!"

The kindly fox patted her hand. "Let no man's tongue make you think otherwise..." Sarah smiled mistily at the Knight "...else I CUT IT FROM HIS MOUTH!" he yelled, brandishing his sword again.

Ambrosius gave her a look that said: _See what I have to put up with?_ and then placed his paws over his eyes.

Sarah coaxed the knight to put away the sword. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the snowfall from her window.

"Do you think...do you think _I_ brought this upon myself by rejecting True Love?" she asked hesitantly.

The little knight gave her a half-hearted smile. "It could all simply be a coincidence. After all, Love is complicated at the very best of times, my Lady." His tone, however, wasn't particularly encouraging. "Though, the Sarah _I_ know never gives up, even when the odds are greatest."

Sarah reached over and hugged him. "I won't give up. Not until I have Love in a headlock."

When the excitable old knight had finally been dragged away by his noble steed, Sarah curled up on her bed and sighed. It had seemed simple in those old fairytales—kisses were fated things that led to Happily Ever Afters; not revolting acts of tongue-based acrobatics.

Then again, perhaps those fairytale kisses were only perfect because they were of the True Love variety.

_That_ was a depressing thought.

"Kisses and Love," she said, punching her pillow vigorously, "appear to be more complex than I first thought."

But as she slipped off to sleep, that melodious male voice intruded upon her slumber once more.

_They don't have to be_, the voice whispered.

And the memory came, unbidden, of a King in a white feathered cape, offering her the world.

_Love me_, the King implored, gazing at her as if she was his one last chance.

_Love me_, he whispered through her dreams.

***

**Author's Note: **People, those reviews? _Magnificent! _I am perpetually overcome by your awesome, reviewing powers!

bruwench: sorry to hear about your grandfather! Though, for the record, eyebrows are overrated. He'll be much lighter without them.

Viking Eggplant: I, too, have a soft spot for Jeremy Botts. I like to imagine that he was one of those guys who used his nerd powers to earn millions and is now married to an extremely hot ex-Miss Nebraska.


	5. Chapter 5

**AUTHOR NOTE: **And you get another chapter today ABSOLUTELY FREE! Never say that I don't spoil you...

**Chapter 5: The Perils of the Prom**

Sarah Williams experienced her third romantic disappointment on the eve of her senior prom.

She had dressed beautifully for the occasion in a gown of forest green taffeta, with a sweetheart bodice and a puffed skirt. She had decided to wear her hair half up and held in place with a shiny barrette, the rest cascading artfully around her bare shoulders. Four strings of pearls were gaily festooned around her throat.

When her father saw her walk down the stairs, a little wobbly in her heels, he had demanded that she climb right back up and put on something more respectable.

In a surprising show of female solidarity, Karen had told her father that the strapless gown was not too grown up at all, and that Sarah's green eye-shadow and red lipstick were in keeping with the current fashion (and not something that ladies of the night would wear, _thank you very much!_). Karen also stated, quite firmly, that Sarah looked absolutely lovely and that all the girls her age would be wearing something similar.

At that moment, Sarah thought Karen was both wonderful and formidable, which was everything she aspired to be.

Her father had, as usual, crumbled under Karen's onslaught. He sighed and hugged Sarah, telling her that she looked far too lovely and was growing up far too quickly. To Karen's credit, she only looked triumphant for a moment and then clicked photo after photo of Sarah as she posed with her father and then with her prom date, Kenny J. Davis.

Kenny J. Davis started the evening as the perfect escort. He bought Sarah a corsage that was only slightly wilted; told a giggling Karen that she looked too young to have a teenage stepdaughter; ruffled Tobys hair, (and laughed good-naturedly when Toby tried to bite Kenny's calf in retaliation); and then talked sports with her Dad until they were in danger of being late for the prom.

Kenny even escorted her to his car—a magnificent red Pontiac Firebird Trans Am that was Kenny's pride and joy. He carefully closed her car door behind her and, for a moment, Sarah felt like Cinderella going off to the ball (albeit in a carriage made of metal and US automotive engineering rather than enchanted pumpkins and transformed mice).

Sarah waved goodbye to her family, who happily waved back, Karen still clicking pictures as fast as humanly possible. Toby blew her a kiss from the window and then bared his teeth when Kenny looked his way. Sarah figured that spending thirteen hours in the company of goblins during one's formative years was bound to leave a mark—a feral mark—on Toby's personality. She made a mental note to make sure that Toby didn't acquire a fondness for ale or urinating on public property in his later years.

The prom started wonderfully. Sarah danced and laughed, drank fizzy fruit punch and danced some more. Kenny had a sense of humor and some killer dance moves and they took over the dance-floor, spurred on by the cheers of the crowd.

But as the night wore on, the punch began to taste less like fruit and more like someone's mother's cooking sherry. More disturbingly, Kenny's dance moves became more and more pelvic and his hands became more and more prone to wander and grope. That is, until Sarah grew tired of saying 'no' and 'stop' and simply stopped him herself with a knee to his groin and a stiletto to his instep. Unluckily for Kenny, Sarah had knees like granite and metal-tipped heels.

_Such_ a pity.

She felt absolutely no remorse as she left him writhing in agony on the dance-floor. She caught a lift back home with her friend Jenny and Jenny's date, Dan, who was incredibly sober thanks to his Mormon upbringing and an aversion to fruit-flavored beverages.

When she came through the front door, she quickly walked past her parents with a firm "I don't want to talk about it!" and ran straight to her room.

As soon as she switched on the light, she pulled the shiny barrette out of her hair and threw it across the room in fury.

"Careful there, luv. You could do some damage with one of those things."

Sarah looked around the room, trying to locate the voice. "Who said that?"

"Over here, luv."

On the edge of her desk was the Blue Worm.

"Oh, it's you," she said sadly, and sat down on her armchair.

The Blue Worm nodded cheerily. "Yep, it's me. Heard you got into a spot of trouble tonight. Just came to see if you were alright."

Sarah snorted. "Good news travels fast, I see."

"Bad news travels even faster. Wanna tell me what happened?"

Sarah fiddled with her strands of pearls. "My date was an octopus."

The Blue Worm blinked owlishly. "Well, that's open-minded of ya. But I gotta tell ya; interspecies love ain't all it's cracked up to be. You gotta try _real hard_ to make it work, you do." He nodded earnestly.

Sarah stared at him, stunned, and then started to laugh, which felt wonderful. "Ah...no. He wasn't a real octopus. He just became drunk and grabby."

With a sigh, she told him all about her evening.

The Blue Worm shook his head. "Well, that doesn't sound very chivalrous of him. Someone really should teach him some manners. You can't just go around treating ladies like that!"

He beckoned her closer, until they were eye-to-eye.

"Tell you what," he whispered, "let me have a chat to a few of the lads and we'll see what we can do to square this whole situation up."

Sarah teared up, touched that he was so willing to jump to her defence.

"Really," she whispered, "there's no need to do anything. I took care of it myself. Besides, I'm just...I'm just really happy that you came to see me tonight."

The Blue Worm gave her a warm smile. "Like we'd let you go through something like this on your own! You've got lots of friends, luv—just remember that."

Sarah nodded, speechless, and brushed away her tears, her makeup running in a horrifying fashion.

"Now, now—cheer up, you. And no more tears; you'll ruin that pretty face of yours, you will. And then where will you be?"

"You're right," she said, reaching for a box of Kleenex, "no more tears, especially over Kenny J. Davis!"

The Blue Worm nodded approvingly. "You just make yourself a pot of tea and think no more of it."

Sarah wiped away her tears (and a good amount of green eye-shadow) and smiled gamely at the Blue Worm. "Thank you. For everything."

"Don't mention it, luv. Now go and get that cuppa."

****

Later that night, when Sarah was lying in bed, still too wired to sleep, she heard a faint scratching sound under her bed.

Then the sound of whispers.

Then the sound of snickers.

Then...

"Psst. Hey, Sarah. You awake up there?" a voice whispered.

Sarah sat up and then leaned over the side of the bed, her hair brushing the floor. Underneath her bed was pitch black with shadows, but those shadows were moving.

"Yes," she whispered back.

"Good. Here you are then—this is for you. It's a present."

There was the sound of something rolling along the floor toward her. Whatever it was sounded round and heavy and Sarah had a terrible feeling that she knew what it was.

She pulled herself upright, flicked the switch on her lamp, and then peered back under the bed.

Unfortunately, she was right.

"No. No way. Take it back," she told the voice under her bed.

She then sat back up, folding her arms protectively against her chest. There was _no way_ that she was touching that thing.

Shortly, she heard chattering and whispering and then three goblins dragged themselves out from under the bed. One of them was coughing.

"Would it kill you to clean up under there every now and then?" he coughed. "It's murder on my asthma."

"Sure. Right away," she said, flatly, "just as long as you get that," she pointed to the crystal, which was now rolling back and forth beside the goblins, "out of my room."

"What? This?" asked a tall goblin, who had a nose that resembled a crushed plum. "It's a crystal, nothing more."

Sarah shook her head vehemently. "It is _always_ something more. Get it out."

A thin goblin wearing a pointy helmet picked up the crystal and held it out to her. "This time, it's nothing more. We just wanted you to see this."

He held the crystal right under her nose. She was about to pull away when she saw the oddest flash of red within the crystal's depths. Peering closer, she saw the inconceivable sight of a shiny red Pontiac Firebird Trans Am sinking, hood-first, into the Bog of Eternal Stench. She could even hear the Pontiac's alarm blaring away in bewilderment.

"You did this?" she said in wonder. "For me?"

The goblin with the pointy helmet shrugged.

"Well, mostly for you. We've always wanted to steal something other than a kid. Jax here," he pointed to the goblin with the crushed-plum nose, "has always wanted to drive a car..."

"...into the Bog," Jax said excitedly. "The splash was amazing!"

The pointy helmet goblin nodded in agreement.

"And this guy," he pointed to the coughing goblin, who was currently wiping his nose on his sleeve, "really likes the color red. So this was actually a great opportunity to live out our dreams."

Sarah felt a rush of joy that came both from the knowledge that these goblins—probably after a visit from the Blue Worm—had cared enough to do something to make her feel better _and_ from the fact that she had been avenged. She knew that the loss of his Pontiac would hurt Kenny more than any damage she had inflicted on his person with her appendages. It was petty and a little cruel of her to be pleased by Kenny's misfortune, but at this moment, it felt glorious.

Though, even as she revelled in watching the Pontiac sink into the malevolent ooze of the Bog, something, possibly her conscience, niggled at her.

She bit her lip. "Don't you think that you guys went a little too far?"

The goblin with the helmet shrugged. "Nah, could have been worse."

"He could have been _in_ the car," added Jax.

"With his family and all his pets," added the coughing goblin.

Jax sighed. "That would have made a better splash."

The goblins nodded sadly.

"Besides," added the goblin with the helmet, "you didn't ask us to do it."

"We volunteered to help," said Jax.

The coughing goblin nodded. "Good Samaritans, we are."

"See?" beamed the goblin with the helmet. "It was actually an act of kindness. Think no more about it, Sarah."

Sarah decided to do just that. "Well, thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome!" they said simultaneously, and began to crawl back under her bed.

"Bye fellas!" she called.

"Bye," they said.

The goblin with the helmet waved as he disappeared, the crystal tucked into his vest. "See you next boyfriend."

Sarah paused mid-wave.

"Hang on," she said, bending over the side of the bed, "this isn't going to happen to me again, is it? Is it?"

But the goblins were gone, leaving Sarah to contemplate the fact that this steady run of bad luck when it came to her romantic life wasn't a run of bad luck at all, but 'The Way Things Are'.

*****


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: The Permanence of Permanent Marker**

Sarah's fourth romantic disappointment was, by far, the worst of them all.

At the time, Bryson Grant (his stage name) had seemed like the perfect boyfriend; intelligent, charming, romantic, and exceptionally attractive to the eye.

Sarah had met him at an audition for a college production of _Hamlet_ and they had just _clicked_. He seemed just as committed to the Drama Society as she was and he also shared her dream of appearing on Broadway rather than going to Hollywood because Hollywood, (they both agreed) was not the right place for a serious actor who was committed to honing his/her craft. The fact that Bryce was just as talented with a guitar as he was with a script was enough to make Sarah decide, then and there, to fall in love with him.

The only thing that made her somewhat uneasy was his oddly inconsistent, upper-crust, Oxford English accent (which, she learnt much later, he had acquired from watching several seasons of _Blackadder_ and every BBC News broadcast that he could get his hands on).

After seeing each other for a month, Sarah was ecstatic. The relationship was going so well! He brought her red roses. He recited sonnets to her. He even cooked her dinner. Clearly, her relationship karma had turned. She was sure that, any day now, she would find herself In Love with Bryson Grant and they would live Happily Ever After.

Any day now.

Until one day, when she walked in to his apartment to find him granting a 'Happily Ever After' (so to speak) to his roommate's girlfriend, Susan.

Sarah surveyed the scene calmly, turned on her heel—despite Bryce's naked protests—and walked out of the apartment, making sure that she left the front door open to facilitate the way for any passing intruders.

By the time she got to her dorm room, the shock had worn off and she was seething.

How dare he?

How _dare_ he!

Liar. Deceiver. _Betrayer_.

Red flickered in her peripheral vision. She felt a sudden tap on her shoulder but when she turned to look behind her, there was only empty air and mocking laughter.

"Lost your head over a fella, lady?"

The voice came from her right. She turned, but there was no-one there.

"Why you do that, lady? You should _never_ lose your head!"

This voice came from her left but was gone as soon as she turned.

"That's how you lose the game, Lady! Lose your heart but_ never_ lose your head!"

This time, the voice and the laughter came from all around her.

She gave up trying to find them and simply addressed the room.

"You're right," she said, seething, "I shouldn't have lost my heart or my head. Not over him. Not over _anyone_."

"_Now_ you're talking!"

Suddenly, she was surrounded by red. Fieries danced manically around her, grabbing her arms and leading her into a frantic dance. She let herself follow them, letting her anger and pain fuel her movements.

"It's not fair, is it Lady?"

She shook her head.

"It's not right, is it Lady?"

"No!" she yelled.

"It ain't the way it should be, is it Lady?"

"_No_!"

One of the fieries bent down so that they were at eye-level; in the darkness, his pupils were lit up like flames.

"I think you should let us have some fun with your man. What you say, Lady?"

"Be my guest," she hissed.

The fieries laughed triumphantly, twirling her faster and faster until the fieries' bodies blurred together into one continuous streak of red as bright as a bonfire, and Sarah felt as though she wasn't even touching the ground.

And then they let her go.

She was flung toward her bed, where she landed with a strong bounce, the mattress creaking as it launched her back into the air once, twice. When she finally stilled, she desperately tried to catch her breath in the now silent room, her heartbeat gradually returning to normal.

_Well_, she thought, _that was unexpected_.

She was motionless in the darkness for what seemed like hours, trying hard to think about absolutely nothing. It was only when she heard the fire engines roar pass by her apartment, followed by police cars and then ambulances that she began to stir.

And then it hit her.

_What have I done?_ she thought frantically.

She quickly rolled off the bed and left the apartment, running toward the sirens flashing red in the distance.

When she got to the scene, she saw Bryson Grant tied to a weather vane on the roof of the local Catholic Church, his pants around his ankles and his genitals painted bright red with permanent marker. 'Cheeter' was written on his chest in the same color. Something a little more colorful was written across his buttocks, also misspelt but still quite legible. Even from the considerable height of the church, Sarah could see the crazed look in his eyes.

The sheriff who was directing the scene barely raised an eyebrow.

"He's probably on some new drug," he told the reporter, who was covering the story for the local news. "Last week, we had some guy climb to the top of a water tower thinking that he was Obi Wan Kenobi. He was convinced that The Force would help him to fly safely to Nebraska. And don't get me started on the guy who thought he was an orange." He took off his hat and ran a hand through his flattened hair. "In my day, kids would just get drunk and maybe tip a cow. Now days, they think that they are a cow and ask to be tipped."

It took two cranes and eight hours to get Bryson Grant down from the weathervane, the rescue made even more difficult by Bryson's rants about the red monsters coming to get him.

Unfortunately for Bryson, the permanent marker used on him was, as the name suggests, _permanent_, which led him to pursue all future amorous activities in the dark. The fact that these future activities were confined to his committed, monogamous relationships is a testament to the power of negative reinforcement as a motivator for lasting behavioral change.

Fieries 1-Bryson Grant 0

Sarah returned to her dorm room guilty and subdued. With a sigh, she took a good look at her room. She noted the romance novels poorly hidden behind her textbooks; the poster of Gustav Klimt's _The Kiss_ above her bed; the display of rose quartz on her dresser that was supposed to attract Love into her life; and the statue of _Romeo and Juliet_ that she had bought in a souvenir shop in Verona. In that moment, she realized that it was all just junk.

She had inadvertently turned her room into a shrine devoted to the kind romantic Love that was proving impossible for her to find. She had naively believed that if True Love was unobtainable, then surely just Love was within her reach. But after this episode, she wasn't sure if she even wanted Love, with its infinite capacity for pain and betrayal.

For the second time in her life, she packed away her childhood dreams in a cardboard box and sealed them up without a second glance.

When she finally fell asleep, exhausted and dry-eyed, his voice spoke to her yet again.

_Giving up on Love, precious thing?_ the voice drawled, amused. _I wouldn't do that if I were you..._

The voice had a point. With both True Love and Love annoyed with her, Sarah's love life was, to use a colloquialism, _screwed_.

Sarah realized that she had made a grave mistake as, one-by-one, her romantic relationships fizzled like fireworks set alight in a lake. Romantic prospects that seemed suitable after a first date phoned to tell her that they had been mysteriously transferred to Uzbekistan or Botswana; others that seemed genuinely interested in her found themselves reconnecting with an old girlfriend or deciding to take that long-planned solo trip to some far-flung destination that didn't have cellular access.

Once these promising romantic opportunities were eliminated, there were the far _less_ promising prospects left for her to date. Some men were pretty to look at, but such was their lack of mental faculties that if you put your ear beside theirs, you would hear the ocean. Others were intellectually fit but physically or morally repugnant. Then there were the ones that had strange habits—picking dead skin off their feet at the dinner table, or collecting pieces of dandruff that resembled historical figures.

Once all of _these_ men had been discarded as potential mates, then there were only the dregs of the dating pool to connect with—the ones who were obsessed with their mothers or who had once been in a meaningful relationship with an inanimate object.

Sarah had half-heartedly dated them all. At this point in her life, there had been so many near misses, near hits, and utter catastrophes in her romantic life that she no longer bothered to share her relationship missteps with her Labyrinth friends. She would play down her disappointments and laugh off her loneliness, despite their worried looks and their offers of assistance. She never complained, lest she unleash something worse than the fieries on these unsuspecting men.

Then, when she had even given up on dating, she met Geoff Harvey. He had been appointed to direct the Broadway-bound play she was starring in and although it is a cliché for a director to fall for his leading lady, it appeared that it was happening nonetheless.

Sarah was justifiably cautious, but it turned out that Geoff was actually wonderful. He was committed, kind, intelligent, sensitive, and strong. They first became friends and then became more than friends. Better still, he appeared to adore her and she thought very highly of him, indeed.

When he asked her to marry him, she said a tearful 'yes', convinced that, this time, everything would work out for her in the end.

It did, but not in the way that she had been expecting.

**Author's Note: **As always, mega thanks for all your spectacular reviews! Salmon, Cheetos, and permanent makers for you all!

But...hang on-do you hear that? That creaky, slithery, _glittery_ sound?

_That_ is the sound of the Goblin King sliding into his best pair of leathery, crotch-enhancing pants-and it's all for you. Hold on, he's coming...


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: The Return of the King (and his fine leather pants)**

Sarah's final romantic disappointment happened the night before her wedding.

Sarah was staying in her childhood home during the lead-up to the big day. When Geoff had knocked on the door that evening, she had jokingly refused to open it because it was bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding. He had given a weak chuckle and then asked her, quietly, to _please let him in_.

They had then proceeded to have a very civilized, very adult discussion about some very hard truths and one very large secret. At the end of it, Sarah hugged him close, wished him well, and told him that they would always be friends, which she meant from the bottom of her heart.

After he left, she broke the news to her parents; her father was angry on her behalf and Karen was devastated. Toby gave her a hug and then proceeded to eat the entire first tier of the wedding cake.

Sarah ate the second tier while watching an old Cary Grant movie on late night television, dressed in an old pair of fox-covered flannel pyjamas that Toby had given her for Christmas. Her family had thought it best to give her space and had retreated upstairs, leaving her to self-medicate with sugar.

When the movie finished, she sat in the dark, thinking about her entire romantic life, from the moment that Hoggle had burst through her hedge with dire warnings of adventures, until the moment Geoff had walked out of her life.

For the first time, she let herself to wonder whether she would have been rescued by now if she had allowed herself to be holed up in that tower.

She wondered what her One True Love was doing right now.

With her head full of 'what ifs' and her stomach full of red velvet cake, she slowly climbed the stairs to her room. Just like old times, she sat in front of her dressing table mirror and looked at her reflection.

"I'm not sure who I'm saying this to," she said, directing her comments to a place beyond her reflection. "I guess I'm saying it to anyone who wants to listen. I just wanted to let you all know that I'm ok with this. I mean, with Geoff cancelling our wedding."

Her gaze automatically turned to the reflection of the long, white gown hanging from the door of her closet. She took a deep breath.

"But more than that, I guess I wanted you all to know that I'm finally ok with the fact that Love and I don't seem to be destined for one another after all."

She was pleased to see that her reflection seemed calm, sure. She turned her attention away from herself and toward the many photographs of her family and friends that were stuck haphazardly around the mirror.

"If I had the chance to go back in time, knowing what I know now, I would be sorely tempted to wait in that tower, even with all that lava. But I still wouldn't choose that path. If I had waited in that tower for my One True Love, it would have hurt too many people— people who loved me and needed me."

Her fingers traced over a photograph of a young Toby, who was clutching her hand and standing on unsteady feet. Right after Karen had snapped that photo, he had said Sarah's name for the very first time. She smiled.

"I would have missed so much time with my family, and with you, my friends. I would have missed the opportunity to grow up and to learn from all my many, many mistakes. So, at end of the day, I would have made the same decision, but perhaps for better reasons."

"I guess after everything, I have no regrets. Well, maybe about Kenny's Pontiac and Bryce's adventure with that permanent marker," she said, ruefully.

"But other than that? Nothing. Just as long as I have you—all of you—in my life, for the rest of my life, then I'll have all the love I'll ever need." She cleared her throat, her eyes tearing up. "And you should know that I love _all_ of you in return. So we'll have our own version of Happily Ever After—one with more ale and chickens and...and tea parties than the usual kind of Happily Ever Afters. Ours will be a love story based on the kind of friendship that lasts forever, which sounds pretty wonderful to me."

She wiped her eyes. "I guess that's all I wanted to say. Thanks for listening."

She waited a moment, just in case, but the mirror only showed her reflection—no friends or beasties looked back.

With a sigh, she turned her back to the mirror, toed off her slippers, and walked over to the bed. Just as she was pulling back the covers, she heard an unexpected voice.

"As usual, you completely turn everyone's world upside down and then expect everything to be forgiven and forgotten with a couple of _pretty words_."

At the sound of THAT voice, the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She clenched her hands.

_Get a grip_, she told herself. _He has no power over you. Just turn around, look him in the eye, and you will be ok_.

Unfortunately, looking at him led to a reaction that was completely the _opposite_ of ok, in fact.

_No-k_, so to speak.

The Goblin King was reclining on her armchair, both leather-clad legs hooked over one of the armrests. She noted, rather wistfully, that he was still obscenely beautiful. She also noted, with some alarm, that he was wearing quite a lot of leather, armor and pointy accessories—and all of it was black. Given what Hoggle had told her about the King's wardrobe choices, she took this to be a Bad Omen.

Despite his menacing choice of clothing, his pose was one of regal indolence—well, as regal and as indolent as one could look whilst sitting on pink, paisley velour—and his rather sharp features were arranged in a rather pleasant smirk. Sarah realized that his expression was probably the result of seeing her foxy flannel pyjamas.

Before she could reach for her robe, he spoke.

"Hello, Sarah," he said, those honeyed tones conveying a wealth of condescension.

Again, his voice set off the fastest physiological chain reaction that Sarah had ever experienced. Her heart started to race, her stomach twisted as if it was attempting some kind of complex, internal-organ yoga manoeuvre, and her palms moistened within a nano-second.

What was possibly even more distressing to Sarah was that this reaction didn't feel like fear per se, but more like _anticipation_ mixed with a healthy appreciation of how well the Goblin King wore leather pants.

Damn hormones. Nothing but trouble.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she said, possibly a bit more aggressively than was warranted.

Despite the indolence of his pose, Sarah couldn't help but feel that the Goblin King was furious at her question and her tone. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted at his side, and his black cloak started to flutter menacingly in the non-existent breeze.

"Why," his words positively dripped venom, "I'm here to _comfort_ you, just like my subjects have comforted you after your many, many, _many_..."

Sarah clenched her jaw.

"... romantic blunders." He brushed a speck of glitter off his sleeve. "Apparently, it is my turn this time. Allow me to begin."

He stood up in one fluid movement and began to clear his throat rather theatrically.

"Oh dear, poor Sarah!" he said, his voice full of exaggerated concern. "It appears that you've lost your fiancé." He placed one gloved hand over his throat in false sympathy. "_Such_ a pity. He seemed like a wonderful fellow, this Gerald of yours."

"Geoff," she corrected automatically.

"Yes," he said agreeably.

He crossed the room and perched on the very edge of her dressing table, his long legs stretched out before him. With a pointy smile, he removed a photo that Karen had taken of Geoff and Sarah at Coney Island from her mirror.

"Simply marvellous chap," he said flatly. He graced the photograph with a rather superior smirk. "That is, until George..."

"_Geoff_."

"...fell out of the wardrobe."

"The term is 'came out of the closet'," she said between clenched teeth.

"Yes." His grin was far too smug to be even remotely sympathetic. "And he certainly evacuated that piece of furniture just in the nick of time, didn't he?"

"That is none of your business," she said firmly, folding her arms.

The Goblin King ignored her. Instead, he looked at her closet curiously, as if he was trying to picture Geoff within.

"From whence you came, Geoff," he said dryly.

With a deft flick of his wrist, the photograph soared across the room and slipped into the tiny gap between the closet doors.

"Hey!" she yelled.

Levelling a disgusted look at the King, she walked quickly over to the closet to retrieve the photo.

Again, the King ignored her, and proceeded to busy himself by adjusting his gloves.

"For what it's worth," she said, wrenching open the closet doors and picking up the photograph. "I think he is very brave to finally—"

The Goblin King held up his hand, halting her mid sentence.

"How _typical_," he sneered. "Always defending the indefensible. But not to worry," he said, his tone so acidic that it could easily strip paint from walls, "I'm sure that there is yet another suitor for you, waiting in the wings. Perhaps even one who will refrain from jumping out of your furniture without prior warning."

There were words—hot, angry, defensive words, liberally sprinkled with the odd expletive—on the tip of Sarah's tongue. But there was something about the Goblin King's brittle demeanor that stopped her in her tracks. It was almost as if he _wanted_ her to argue with him.

Sarah had rarely acted in accordance with the Goblin King's wishes and saw no reason to start now.

"Forgive me," she said sarcastically, placing the photo on her nightstand, "but the prospect of yet another suitor leaves me cold. And frankly," she said, folding her arms, "given Geoff's announcement, I am a little suspicious of all men right now." Her lips twisted into a triumphant little smirk. "Perhaps _some_ men more than others."

She gave his ensemble a meaningful look, pausing at the high-ish heels on his black leather boots; the jewels sprinkled over his black armor; and the peach lipgloss liberally coating his thin lips. She ended her scrutiny at his mismatched eyes which were rimmed with at least three different shades of eye-shadow, one of which looked remarkably like _Max Factor's_ 'Earth Spirits Eye Shadow #117' in 'Smouldering Silver'.

Those cosmetically-enhanced eyes narrowed. "I do not appreciate the implication of your statement or your gaze, Sarah."

Before she could say anything, he spied her wedding gown hanging from the closet door. Shaking his head, he sauntered over to it.

"Good lord, you weren't going to get married in that _rag_ were you?"

He looked disdainfully at the simple, white satin sheath dress, and then prodded it disapprovingly with his index finger.

"That comment is really not helping your case," she said dryly.

He rolled his eyes.

"Look," she said briskly, her patience finally at an end, "for the record, your presence here isn't all that comforting. Quite the opposite, in fact. Even the fieries did a better job of consoling me after a breakup. So, unless you're going to offer me another tier of wedding cake or a bottle of hard liquor, you can show yourself out."

The King tilted his head to the side, surveying her. "Those are my only two options? Come, come, Sarah—wouldn't you much prefer me to unleash a minotaur on Geoffrey? I do have a spare one." His brow creased. "_Odd _fashion sense, if memory serves but menacing nonetheless..."

Sarah blinked. "Ahh...thanks, I guess. But no thanks."

The Goblin King's gaze turned shrewd. "And if I could, hypothetically, order the minotaur to gore Gordon in a _sensitive_ area the next time he engages in amorous activities with his male assistant—would that change your answer?"

Sarah's eyes opened wide. Huh. His assistant. Well, that... explained a lot actually. Lucky for Geoff, she had lost her taste for vengeance long ago.

"Still no thanks. We're friends...and friends don't let friends to get gored by minotaurs."

The Goblin King gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Friends," he sneered, "Of _course_ he is your friend."

He crossed the room in a flash, closing the gap between them until he loomed above her. Sarah was forced to take a step back to regain any semblance of personal space.

Undeterred, he began to circle her. "You befriend dwarves who conspire against you; foxes who were ordered to oppose you; beasts who should have devoured you; and men who have lied to you and betrayed you." He paused and leaned toward her, close enough for her to count each strand of his moon-bright hair-close enough for the hem of his cloak to brush against her calves. "Given your penchant for the devious and cruel, I find it odd that you haven't sought to befriend _me_ in all these years."

_Ah ha_! Sarah thought triumphantly. _Now_ they were getting somewhere.

Funny, she had never considered that the Goblin King might have feelings (beyond villainous urges), but clearly his feelings were hurt and he was lashing out at her. The thought made her oddly sad.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, refusing to back away this time. "I often wondered about that. I eventually became friends with everyone in the Underground—except you. I guess it's because you didn't make the effort to befriend me."

At his stunned expression, she merely smiled, tiredly. "I mean, if you had come over here one day, and said 'truce', I guess we could have gotten past our grievances and become...well, friends." She shrugged. "Or not. But we could have tried."

Jareth stepped away from her. "That is all it would have taken?" he asked, shocked.

She shrugged. "Probably. I don't hold a grudge. In fact, I even became friends with Jeremy Botts. "

His expression turned gleefully nostalgic. "Ahh...Jeremy Botts. That odd little man."

"Yes," she said dryly, "and looking back, that was probably my most successful relationship to date."

At the mention of the word 'relationship', Jareth's mood turned dark again. "Ahh yes. The first of so many."

Sarah was too tired to deal with His Majesty's bipolar turns. "You know what? This has been great. Thanks—your insults _really_ took my mind off my romantic woes, not to mention the sordid details about my ex-fiancé's love-life that you managed to drop into the conversation." She walked over to the mirror. "I'm sure you've got a long day ahead of you, bogging and terrorizing your subjects, so let's just call it a night. It was great seeing you—really; we'll have to do this again in another fifteen years or so."

She made a meaningful 'go back to where you came from' gesture toward the mirror. The King, however, ignored it and simply looked at her, his expression inscrutable.

"You are _exhausting_," he said simply.

She blinked. "Me? _I'm_ exhausting? _I'm exhausting_?"

He ignored her. "Why couldn't you have simply allowed yourself to be taken by that damn dragon?"

His tone was so _wistful_, his posture and expression so defeated, that for a moment, she was stunned into silence.

But only for a moment.

Sarah marched up to him until they were toe-to-toe.

"_Allowed_ myself to be taken?" she said, furious. "You mean 'kidnapped and kept in a tower surrounded by lava, at the mercy of some deranged villain', don't you? And for what? True Love?"

The King's wistful expression fled, replaced by a fury to match Sarah own.

"True Love, is a _gift_!" he snarled. "And you threw it away as if it meant _nothing_. You cast away your First Kiss without a thought, even though it rightly belonged to another! As usual, you were spoilt, selfish—"

"_Selfish_?" she interrupted. "The only person I hurt by not being in that tower was _me_. How is that selfish?"

At that, he threw his head back and laughed, the sound as sharp as glass shards.

"Tell, me precious thing; while you were composing your great and glorious speech about how you rejected True Love in order to be there for the people who needed you, did you ever spare a thought for what your actions may have cost your One True Love?"

Sarah looked at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

His eyes bored into hers. "When you rejected the possibility of True Love, what do you think happened to your One True Love? Do you think that he simply moved on? Do you think that he _could_ move on, knowing that his One True Love was out there, even if she cared nothing for his existence?"

Sarah opened her mouth to retort and then abruptly closed it again. In all these years, she had never truly considered what her actions may have cost her One True Love. If her One True Love had known that she had rejected him— and if he had subsequently experienced the same kind of romantic failures that she had experienced—well, then her One True Love was entitled to be somewhat annoyed with her.

Then again, if he had waited for her all these years, hoping that _somehow_ they could be together...

Oh hell.

Sarah's expression turned to one of horror. "I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't realize. Hoggle..."

"_Hoggle_," the King sneered. "That damn dwarf ruined _everything_. He warned you needlessly and look what came of it."

Sarah, of course, came to her friend's defense. "He tried to protect me from dragons and lava and villains," she said passionately. "He was a good friend who didn't want me to sit in a tower for a century for absolutely nothing."

The Goblin King paced the floor frantically before her. "A century? _A century_? You would have been up there for thirteen hours at the most!"

He stopped in shock, his eyes wide at his confession.

And suddenly, it all made sense to Sarah.

"You," she whispered. "It was you, all along. _You_ are my One True Love."

For a moment, the Goblin King stood completely still. A look of such raw longing briefly softened his harsh features, only to be quickly extinguished.

Slowly, he began to clap his hands, the sound oddly muted by his leather gloves.

"Well done. You've finally figured it out. Give the girl a peach."

He stormed past her, walking toward the mirror.

"Wait a minute!" she yelled, grabbing onto his arm.

Jareth stopped and looked down at her hand, pale against his black armor.

"That's quite the grip," he said mildly, "you should consider taking up arm-wrestling."

Before she could reply, he resumed walking, towing her along with him.

"Damn it, stop!" she yelled, stumbling behind him.

When he didn't even pause, she set her jaw.

"Right," she said, determined, "you asked for it."

She deliberately hooked her ankle around one of his boots, and wound her leg around his.

Jareth looked down. "What the—?"

They toppled over, forming an odd, tangled heap of leather and flannel, his cape fluttering nervously over them both.

"I want answers," she panted, clutching his leg.

The King turned his head so that his face was no longer mashed into the carpet.

"And _I_ want to rule a kingdom where the inhabitants don't accidentally set fire to their own pants," he huffed, trying to untangle himself from her limbs. "Clearly neither of us will get what we want."

With a few efficient movements, he was almost free. Just as he was about to stand, Sarah reached up and touched him briefly on the cheek. He looked at her in shock.

"Please," she said quietly, pushing her advantage. "Please, Jareth."

He closed his eyes, almost _savoring_ the sound of his name.

"Please," she whispered again, her fingers tingling from where they had touched his skin.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned his body so that they were face-to-face.

"I thought Hogsbreath told you all about my 'beige phase' and your ill-fated adventure," he said, resigned.

She sighed in relief. It appeared that he had decided not to run away after all. "Clearly, he missed out on a few important details—like the identity of my One True Love. _And_ who my kidnapper was going to be. Please, I need to know."

The King brushed a dust bunny from his sleeve. "A dragon by the name of Reginald. And before you ask, he was doing it because he owed me a favor."

Sarah relinquished her grip on his leg—making a mental note that he had rather firm calves— and hoisted herself up to her feet. "And that's it?" she said, puzzled. "Just the dragon? There was no other villain?"

Jareth also stood up next to her, so close that they were practically touching. Oddly enough, she didn't mind this time.

Though, it was somewhat distracting.

Jareth didn't notice her lack of focus. "Good villains—yes, that is an oxymoron—are hard to find. Strictly speaking, there doesn't need to be a villain when you have lava. Lava is an extremely villainous substance."

Sarah pondered that. "Hogg—, I mean, my friends were convinced that the lava would make rescue difficult."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you _really_ think that a little hot liquid would have posed any kind of trouble for me?"

At Sarah's less than encouraging look, he rolled his eyes. "Good lord, you insult me at every turn..."

With a flick of his wrist, a crystal appeared, dancing across his fingertips. "I spent many an hour planning ways to cross. It helped pass the time."

He held the crystal before her. Peering inside, she saw a rickety old castle with a high tower, surrounded by spitting, hissing lava. At the top of the tower, she saw herself sitting at the window, her long, dark hair whipping around wildly in the high winds. This Other Sarah watched in amusement (and a fair bit of relief) as the Goblin King rescued her from the tower in a multitude of ways—each of which contained at least one costume change and a catchy song-and-dance number. There was one dramatic moment where one of the King's costume choices appeared to be somewhat _flammable_ ("Rayon, rayon, tra la la"), but even a flaming cloak was not enough to stop him from his mission. In fact, he barely missed a note. The Other Sarah applauded enthusiastically.

By the end of the five minute montage, Sarah had a new found respect for the ingenuity of the Goblin King.

"Show off," she said, a little admiringly.

He merely grinned his pointy grin.

Sarah's answering smile soon disappeared. "I was too young for a True Love back then. I barely recognized that boys existed. I certainly wouldn't have known what to do with _you_."

Jareth made a rather dismissive hand gesture. "You could have put me in your closet until you were ready to attend to me. Geoff could have kept me company," he said, with a sly smile.

Sarah elbowed him in the side. "Not cool."

Jareth appeared not to mind her physical assault—probably because he was wearing armor. He moved the crystal effortlessly back and forth, from palm to palm. "True Love waits, Sarah."

He handed the crystal to her once more. Within its depths, she saw what might have been between them: A rescue, followed by a tentative friendship, which led to a bond that grew stronger and stronger between them each day. Then, after enough time had passed, the attraction that had always flickered between them was allowed to finally burn bright, leading to a Love...no, a _True Love_...that endured throughout the ages.

When the crystal turned dark, Sarah gave a sudden bark of laughter which sounded more like a sob. She looked up at Jareth and noticed, with some surprise, that he was still staring at the crystal with a wretched kind of longing. She'd bet her salary that, at that moment, her own expression was probably eerily similar.

Lord, what a mess.

"I don't know about you," she said, clearing her throat, "but I could use a very strong drink."

She crossed the room, her legs a little shaky. "I'm going to raid my Dad's liquor cabinet. Do you want anything?"

He gave her a sharp smile. "No need, precious thing."

With another flick of his wrist, he tossed the crystal into the air. When it returned to his palm, it had turned into a small bottle, the contents of which were the color of mother of pearl. Suspended in the liquid were thousands of golden flecks.

Sarah shuddered. "If that's _Floraqua_, I'm going to pass; this day has been horrific enough."

He tsked. "Ye of little faith."

Looking around the room, he spied two rose-print tea cups on the shelf behind him. He carefully poured a generous quantity of the liquid into each cup.

"Trust me—good lord, _that_ isn't a phrase I utter often—you have never truly sampled _Floraqua_." He silenced Sarah's protests with a gesture. "As if I would leave a precious liquor—distilled only once every century—where that thieving dwarf could find it."

He held the cup out for Sarah. "Hogwash delights in raiding the liquor from my cabinet—I delight in swapping the liquor in my cabinet for ever-more unpalatable substances."

Sarah turned a little green. Nevertheless, she walked across the room and took the cup from the King. "Do I even want to know what substance you put in Hoggle's _Floraqua_, bottle?"

Jareth contemplated that for a moment, tapping a gloved finger against his lips. "Given that I wish to continue this lovely truce of ours, I do believe the answer is 'no'." He picked up his own tea cup. "Besides, what's done is done. This, I assure you, is the genuine _Floraqua_,."

Sarah tentatively brought the cup to her nose and inhaled. The floral scent was utterly bewitching. She bravely took a sip and moaned happily.

"Wow," she said, reverently, and took another sip.

It was like drinking liquid sunshine. She felt _wonderful_—as if anything and everything was possible, as long as she kept drinking.

She made her way carefully to the foot of the bed, her limbs tingling in a pleasant way, and sat down. With a happy sigh, she took another sip.

"This," she said dreamily, "is bliss."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Better than your last _Floraqua_, experience?"

"Somewhat," she said, with an impish smile. "Unlike last time, I don't want to rub my tongue with sandpaper."

He threw back his head and laughed. Oddly enough, it made her happy, _really_ happy, to see him laughing like that. She wondered if she could blame her reaction on the _Floraqua_.

Jareth crossed the room and sat down beside her, the entire length of his thigh pressed against hers. Sarah found this development oddly thrilling.

They sat together, sipping companionably.

"What a don't understand," she said eventually, "is why you went to all the trouble of organizing a dragon so that you could rescue me from a tower when you could have simply visited me here and let me get to know you. Or better yet, why didn't you just simply _tell me_ that you were my One True Love?"

Jareth sighed. "I wasn't allowed to tell you that I was your One True Love—that's not 'The Way Things Are Done'. As for visiting, at first, I couldn't come to you." At Sarah's puzzled look, he grimaced. "I had no power over you, remember? And just when I had figured out a way of getting around that particular impediment, you went and rejected True Love." He gave her a disapproving glance and drained the last of the liquor from his cup. "After that, I wasn't allowed anywhere near you. It was the Underground equivalent of a restraining order."

It was Sarah's turn to grimace. "Then how are you here now?"

At that question, Jareth smiled a pointy, devious smile. "In that heart-rending speech you gave earlier, you said that you loved us, _all of us_, which apparently included me, too. Your words broke the spell, so to speak."

Sarah thought that over. She must have meant it, on some level, otherwise it wouldn't have worked.

Sighing, she noticed that she was out of _Floraqua_. Pity; these soul-wrenching conversations were so much easier while mildly intoxicated.

Without being asked, Jareth reached over and refilled her cup and his. "Even if I could have ventured here and courted you, I wouldn't have; I thought that True Love deserved a grand gesture. Perhaps I went too far with the lava." He took a long sip from his own cup. "Damn lava," he muttered.

"Damn lava," she agreed.

"Besides," he said quietly, in the tone that one usually reserves to tell a secret, "I was rather looking forward to playing the role of rescuer for once. Those fellows always get to smash things up."

Sarah was about to laugh but she stopped, abruptly. It made sense— it really did. Jareth, King of the Goblins, was a villain who yearned to be a hero for once—if only to see how the other half lived. The clues were there throughout her run through the Labyrinth: His costumes, for instance (aside from the villainous black) were ridiculously romantic—all those poet shirts, not to mention that feathery beige ensemble he had worn during their last encounter; in her peach dream, he had played the role of a (slightly sinister) Prince Charming, whirling her around the dance-floor and singing of love and devotion; even in his final monologue, he had implored her to love him, though he had slipped it between villainous commands, possibly so that she wouldn't notice. At the time, she had thought that his romantic overtures were simply a ploy to get her to give up Toby; now, she wondered whether he had been struggling to juggle both his role as her villain _and_ as her One True Love—and failing somewhat at both.

Talk about eye-opening. If only she had known...

"Thirteen hours, you say, and I would have been out of that tower?

"At the most," he said morosely. "Damn dwarf."

"Damn dwarf," she agreed, not feeling disloyal at all.

With an approving smirk, Jareth clinked his cup against hers in a toast. She reciprocated with her own smirk and took another sip.

"I couldn't have known that," she said quietly, "so I chose the best option available to me at the time."

He nodded, finally acknowledging the point.

They sat in comfortable silence, feeling the potential growing between them. She noticed that Jareth was starting to look remarkably relaxed; his eyes were almost half-closed, his posture far less rigid than she had ever seen it. It was as if telling her all the secrets he had kept bottled up for years had leached the rigidity from his form. That and he was probably mildly intoxicated.

"You never gave up, did you?" she asked admiringly. "Even after you watched every one of my dating disasters."

At that, he smiled. "Good lord no! You had such horrific taste in suitors; they were all so _dismal_. Though," he said, thoughtfully, "I should thank them—they provided me with a most flattering basis of comparison."

Sarah laughed. "I can't argue with that." She sipped the very last of her _Floraqua_. "I had such wonderful plans for my First Kiss and for Love in general...and it went terribly wrong each and every time."

Jareth turned toward her, his head tilted to the side with almost birdlike curiosity. "Is it really the fault of your suitors for not living up to your expectations?"

"_You_ did."

He first looked surprised and then inordinately pleased at her recognition. She, however, was simply shocked that she had said it. She peered into her cup.

"This stuff is stronger than I thought," she muttered.

Jareth, however, was in the mood to be gracious. "Yes, but I had to bend the very fabric of time to do it," he conceded. "You had me dancing to a merry tune, precious thing. And if even I, with all my cunning and magic besides, was exhausted living up to your expectations, well...those mortal boys never stood a chance."

She thought back to their dance in the white ballroom and her eyes narrowed. "It's all your fault—you gave me ballrooms and dances and handsome princes in shining—"

"Kings," he interrupted. "Handsome kings."

"Still," she persisted, ignoring him, "it was a hard act to follow."

"_Deliberately_ so," he revealed, still smiling.

"Ahh. Then mortal men never stood a chance?"

"Never," he said with a satisfied smirk.

Sarah pressed her thigh a little more firmly against his. He noticed and gave her an approving look.

She took a deep breath. "So...what happens now?"

"That depends," he said mildly. He took her cup from her and put it on the floor beside his. "Have you finished playing with your mortal suitors, precious thing?"

"Didn't you hear my speech? I'm through with love," she said dramatically.

She placed one hand over her eyes and fell backwards in a rather spectacular swoon onto the bed. She removed her hand when she heard the sound of his laughter but almost put it back again when she caught the predatory look in those strange eyes.

"Pity," he said wistfully, "I'm ready to begin."

In a flash, he had left the end of the bed and was kneeling by her side. With a strange smile, he took her hands and crossed them over her chest.

"Whatever are you doing?" she whispered.

"Hush," he whispered in return, "this is 'The Way These Things Are Done'."

He leaned over her and carefully spread her dark hair so that it spilled artfully over her pillows.

"The way 'what' is 'done', exactly?"

He tsked. "Can't you see that I am trying to create the right ambiance here? And do be still," he said sternly, pushing her gently back onto the bed when she attempted to sit up.

"Fine," she huffed.

She watched as he pulled flowers—large pink peonies and roses in shades she had never seen before—from thin air. He placed them around the bed, weaving the smaller buds into her long, dark tresses.

"You can't even give me a clue?"

Jareth rolled his eyes, clearly enjoying himself immensely. "So many questions, Sarah." He tucked a final rose in-between her clasped hands. "Those princes had it easy—_their_ women were in a coma," he noted dryly.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you talking about Sleeping Beauty and Snow White?"

"I am talking about taking back my right to your First Kiss—a right that was stolen from me."

Flower petals, pink and white and red, began to fall from the ceiling.

"Now, close your eyes," he coaxed. "Precious thing."

She looked up, enchanted at the scene. "But, I'll miss—"

"Sarah," he said, a smile in his voice. "Don't defy me."

With an exaggerated sigh, she closed her eyes.

"_Do_ try and enjoy it," he chided.

She laughed and then tried to play her part. With her eyes closed, her senses came alive. She could feel the weight of the petals as they fell over her body and across her hands; she could hear the sound of her own breathing and the fragment of a familiar song that Jareth was humming; she could smell leather amongst the summer scent of peonies and the richer fragrance of roses; she could taste a thousand flowers on the tip of her tongue.

The scene was _perfect_.

Suddenly she felt the warmth of his breath brush against her lips like a caress and her heart began to beat so _fast_ that she could hear it pounding in her ears.

_How could Sleeping Beauty have slept over the sound of her heartbeat?_ she thought, wildly.

Then his lips touched hers and she finally knew why a First Kiss had the power to wake heroines from apple-induced comas. It wasn't simply lips pressed against lips— it was a melding of _souls_. His lips touched hers and her entire being flooded with such energy, such light that she felt incandescent. She could _feel_ him—everything that he was, everything that he could be—in every molecule of her body.

_This_ kiss could rouse her from sleep, from death, from the bounds of forever.

_This_ kiss promised a thousand 'Happily Ever Afters' and centuries of 'As Long As They Both Shall Lives'.

_This_ kiss ruined her for all others, while assuring her that she would never need to seek out anyone else, now that she was safely sheltered in the arms of her One True Love.

When his lips finally left hers and she opened her eyes, she was no longer in her room; starscapes twinkled knowingly down upon her, a full moon illuminated the white-gold strands of Jareth's hair. And if she inhaled deeply enough, she could smell the fragrance of wild honeysuckle over the scent of roses and blossoms.

She looked up at her One True Love, who was now wearing a fetching beige ensemble that matched her own. He was looking down at her with a look of such wonder and fierce joy that her heart simply melted. She gently traced her fingers along his cheek and smiled up at him madly. His look turned wildly triumphant and, after _that_ kiss, she felt that he had grounds to be, so she allowed it.

"May I have another First Kiss?" she asked, a trifle breathlessly.

"Greedy girl." His voice was husky and kiss-roughened. "According to the fairytales, you are only allowed one."

She didn't bother to ask again; she simply reached up and _took_ another.

And another.

And still another.

Until she lost count.

"_That_," she moaned, as Jareth's lips nipped the smooth skin of her pale throat, "isn't part of a First Kiss scenario. I doubt Prince Charming gave Snow White a love bite."

"Princes," he said disdainfully, placing soothing butterfly kisses on the spot, "always do things by halves. Which is why it is much better to be rescued by a debaucherous King."

"I quite agree," she said, tilting her head so that he could place more kisses against the delicate curve of her neck.

"Though," he said, between kisses, "if we are talking about First Kiss violations, I doubt that Snow White had groped _her_ Prince in quite that fashion," he said, referring to Sarah's hands, which were currently caressing his chest beneath his pendant.

"Which is why it is better to rescue a Champion rather than a virtuous maiden," she said impishly.

"I quite agree."

Though, the thought made her pause. Jareth made a displeased sound at the interruption.

"I am the Champion, aren't I? Perhaps I should have been rescuing you all along."

Jareth paused and looked up at her. "Hmm, your argument has merit. You _are_ the Champion. And I am the exceedingly noble King, who lives in a tower, trapped under a curse..."

Sarah's eyes widened. "You're under a curse?"

Jareth lifted one eyebrow. "Have you met my subjects? Ruling them definitely counts as a curse. "

Sarah rolled her eyes.

"I do believe that I am in need of rescuing."

Sarah nodded briskly. "Very well, then. Let's swap places."

With a laugh, Jareth complied, easily flipping their positions so that he was now lying on the bed amongst the petals and Sarah was arranged above him. He dutifully crossed his hands over his chest and attempted a virtuous expression.

He failed miserably.

"So, fair King," she said teasingly, "shall I weave flowers into your hair?"

He gave her a dull glare. "There are limits to even _my_ androgyny."

She smiled in delight and let her fingers slide through his wild, golden hair. He closed his eyes, positively relishing her attention.

"Perhaps," she said, thoughtfully, "you went about this all wrong."

He lifted one impossibly arched brow. "How so?"

"Well, if Hoggle had burst into my garden that day and told me that you had been snatched by a dragon and then taken to a tower, surrounded by lava, then there is a very good chance that I would have rescued you."

He opened one eye. "A _very good chance_?"

She thought about it a little more. "Definitely."

He opened both eyes, his expression contemplative. Suddenly, his eyes widened.

"You would have rescued me," he said with conviction. "Your ridiculously noble heart, your desire to protect those around you, and your love of smashing things up would have guaranteed it."

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Damn. Remind me to bog all my advisors."

"Sure," she said brightly. "Though is there any room to bog them, what with Kenny's Pontiac in there?"

At the mention of the car, Jareth's expression soured. "That Pontiac took an entire year to sink to the bottom. During that time, my Bog became a tourist attraction. The atmosphere was positively _festive_. "

He looked so put out, it made her smile. "Poor Jareth." She carefully placed a rose between his hands. "Now _hush_, and allow me _my_ First Kiss."

"_How you turn my world_," he whispered.

And with another First Kiss, True Love (who disliked Sarah on general principle but had a soft spot for men in leather pants), finally removed all obstacles between Sarah and her King.

And they went on to live Happily Ever After.

Mostly.

_The End_

**Author's Note: ***sob, sob*. And that's the end of the story! (insert adult-type touching). Thank you, so much, for reading. I certainly enjoyed reading your reviews; as usual, they are far better than the actual story.

(For those of you who have emailed me about _Christmas Pretty, _yes, I shall finish it. Though probably not until Christmas. I'll need a lot of eggnog to get me through those last few pages. Though, I am so sorry for the delay; I've actually been writing an original fantasy story, with a feisty heroine and a sarcastic hero (who also, oddly enough, wears leather pants. What can I say? I have a type...) and that has been sucking up the writing bits of my brain. If I can get the CP chapter done beforehand, I shall definitely post it asap)

Farewell for now, fangals/fanguys! Stay crotch-tastic!


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